


An End, Perhaps

by The_Peridot_Shade



Series: Many Lives, Many Tales—None of Them Easy [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Despair, Hope, Is he hallucinating or are his dead relatives actually there?, Suicidal Thoughts, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Peridot_Shade/pseuds/The_Peridot_Shade
Summary: Maedhros has claimed the Silmaril at last, but finds no succor.  In one universe, he leaps off the precipice.  In this one, he just might find a reason to live.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: Many Lives, Many Tales—None of Them Easy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/657539
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	An End, Perhaps

**Author's Note:**

> Today, February 24, 2020, is the sixth anniversary of the day I narrowly averted my own suicide attempt. It was not the last time I felt that way, but it was the most important. I finally feel like I can truly explore the headspace I was in when I made the two decisions that changed my life that day, and this story is a reflection of that.  
> As such, there is a fairly detailed portrayal of suicidal ideation. There is also a portrayal of one reason someone might choose not to act on those thoughts.  
> As always, use your discretion and take care of yourself.  
> I have chosen to moderate comments due to the sensitive nature of the content of this fic.  
> Beta credit goes to Hamelin Born, who was kind enough to take time out of a very busy schedule to give this a read-through.  
> I do not own Tolkien's magnificently angsty characters, but I sure do project a lot onto them.

All was lost.

Maedhros had known it for a while now, known with every loss, every person slain by his sword or the enemy's.He'd known with every breath he took after that ill-fated parlay that those breaths were numbered.That the days of everyone he'd ever loved would be short and brutal.

He did not sleep anymore, and food was tasteless but necessary.Dreams of what was haunted him day and night.

The only thing that kept him alive was the possibility that the Oath could be fulfilled.That there would be an _end_.

And now, now Maedhros knew: there would never be an end.

The Silmarils would not suffer his touch, nor his brother's.They could not keep close what they were bound to.

Even the land itself could not endure.

All was _lost_.

So he stood, here on the edge of the chasms opening in a dying continent, and knew these were his last moments. _Chose_ for these to be his last moments.

There would be an end, he would _make_ it so.

Maglor was calling him, pleading with him.He knew he answered, but could not say what—his own voice was distant, unreal.

He was going to die, and nothing could stop him.

"Nothing, Russandol?" a voice asked.

Maedhros looked up.He was hallucinating, he must be, for standing carelessly above the magma was his uncle, just as regal and noble as the last time he saw Fingolfin.Untouched by the horror that was his death.

There was understanding in his uncle's eyes."You are not the first to think that life is only suffering and better ended, nor will you be the last.But you must be sure.You must know the consequences."

This was a strange conversation to be having with a figment of his imagination, but Maedhros had nothing to lose so he answered anyway."The consequences?"

"Yes, the consequences."Fingolfin sighed."You think you will not be missed, that those who remain when you are gone are better off without you.That the Eldar will better off without you.I remember what that felt like, and I remember what I chose.I was wrong."

Maedhros blinked.This was starting to feel—real.

Another voice chimed in as a woman who looked very much like Celegorm faded into the space beside Fingolfin."We were both wrong," the lady said in Quenya, "I thought I could not be what my son needed, what he deserved.Now I see he only needed _me_."

"Míriel is right," Fingolfin affirmed, "I left my sons with no support, no solace in the wake of terrible destruction.I left my nephews to deal all-but-alone with the animosity against you.I left _you_ with the terrible burden you once relinquished to me in your need, for I know that you were the one to hold Fingon's reign together.I should not have."

"You have the choice," his grandmother said, gently, "We cannot make it for you.We are dead, and we chose it.And you have reason to seek an end to grief, to seek relief—but those things can also be found among the living.You are needed, more than you know."

"Your brother needs you," Fingolfin said.In Maedhros' mind, he saw Maglor wandering ceaselessly, grieving and never allowing anyone into his heart.

"Your nephew needs you," Míriel added.Maedhros saw Celebrimbor, creating great works that ever bore the Star of the Fëanorions, living and laughing until one day he did not, betrayed by one who was never as he seemed.

"Your sons need you," Fingolfin spoke and Maedhros watched as Elros chose the path of Men and Elrond lived through two Ages with a piece of himself missing, but still the wise and caring soul he had always been.

Míriel looked Maedhros in the eye."You are needed.Not to prevent tragedy or to save anyone, not to take up the burdens that should not have been yours to bear, but to be _present_.To love and be loved."

"The time of the Eldar in Endor may be limited," Fingolfin added, "But it does not have to be marked by grief and longing.It can simply be life, in all its wondrous peril and joy."

Maedhros swallowed.He had forgotten that joy could exist for him, but he had experienced it, hadn't he?In the presence of those he loved.It would be a poor repayment to give them only grief in return.

"Someday," Míriel said, "You will feel joy again.It may be soon, it may be long in the coming.But you will feel it, if you _fight_ for it."

She smiled."Do not go gentle into that good night."

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light," Fingolfin said.

With one last smile to him, they vanished.

Maedhros stared at the chasm for a moment.It was tempting, so very tempting, to simply step off the edge and into the fires below.But Maglor was behind him, still pleading, and he would not make this be the last memory his brother had of him.So he did something else.

He let go of the Silmaril, watching it fall down, down, down into the magma below.It sunk rather anticlimactically, leaving only the barest hint of white light glimmering on the surface.

He stepped back from the abyss and turned.Maglor met him halfway, throwing arms about him and weeping.

As he wrapped his arm around his brother in return, he considered the road ahead.It would be hard, he knew, but he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Six years ago at this time, I was in an emergency room waiting for a bed to open up in the psychiatric ward. I was terrified, still suicidal, and had barely eaten all day.  
> Today, as I write this note, I am happily about to go get sushi for dinner to celebrate being alive.  
> It does, in fact, get better.


End file.
